The Wind
by Ariana Malfoy- Lestrange
Summary: Cho remembers how he was truly, the wind beneath her wings, at his funeral


I watch them leave, slowly, one by one...all of the hundreds of mourners leave. There're so many familiar faces in this crowd and so many faces missing.  
  
Hermione has to be led out, sobbing uncontrollably, by Ron. He too is fighting back tears, but he remains strong, he remains strong for Hermione.  
  
Luna Lovegood, eyes dry, but face ashen, comforts a silent Ginny. Ginny hasn't spoken a word since she heard the news, her face is like that of one carved in stone, but we all feel that Ginny's silence is more terrible than any amount of tears someone could cry.  
  
It's an unspeakable grief in the eyes of all the guests of this funeral. They simply cannot comprehend why he would do this.  
  
He had the rest of his life ahead of him; he defeated Voldemort only three years ago. There was no sign, no warning, of his suicide.  
  
He was the Boy Who Lived- why would he want to do such a thing?  
  
I know. I know why he did it.  
  
Have you ever had a burden that was too heavy, too awful, that was on your shoulders? It tied you down, slowly destroying you from the inside, but you knew you couldn't give it to someone else, because of the simple matter of the fact that it was your burden to carry.  
  
And then, one day, that burden is suddenly lifted. You have a newfound freedom, and you have absolutely no idea what to do with it.  
  
That's how he must have felt for a while, you're unbelievably happy, thinking that things could be perfect again, that since the burden is lifted, you can be really happy again.  
  
But when you go through something that evil- when you go through something that has been a major part of most of your life; emotionally, physically, and mentally- you can never properly go back.  
  
You can never really be happy again, at least, not the same kind of happiness you felt before the coming of the burden.  
  
Life is different after that.  
  
It's inevitable- nobody else really notices either, because you get used to putting a mask on, you get used to becoming someone for yourself, and someone for other people.  
  
Sometimes the weight of it all is just too much to bear, life is just too much to bear, the pain, the hurt, the knowledge that you can never find proper happiness, and love again is just too much.  
  
That's how Harry must have felt. I know this because I only knew a tiny portion of his pain, barely anything of it.  
  
He was forced into the role of the hero, he never asked to play it, and if he had been asked, he would have said no.  
  
Being a hero is so much more complex than we think. It means always, constantly, putting the well being of other people above what you'd really like to do. It's about sacrificing what you love, what you hold dear, and essentially, your life as well.  
  
And even when you do win, even after all the happily-ever-afters, the deep despair you once felt is still within you, lurking in the dark corners of your mind, always there, always casting a slight shadow on little joys.  
  
There are so many what-ifs that he left behind. I can almost hear the thoughts echoing in his friend's heads.  
  
I can hear my own what-ifs as well.  
  
What if we had kissed that night after Ron and Hermione's engagement party?  
  
We had come so close to it too- so very close.  
  
Maybe you'd still be here, if we did. Maybe we would even be together again.  
  
Maybe, or maybe not.  
  
I don't know, and now I will never know.  
  
I'm the last guest here. It must be hours after it ended, and I'm alone, alone at the shore, watching the waves crash in the twilight.  
  
I still don't really understand why Ron and Hermione wanted your ashes in the sea. It seems meaningless to me, it's not like you particularly loved the ocean anyway.  
  
If it were my choice, I would've had your ashes scattered out among the wings of wind, the same wind that blew through your hair during all our Quidditch matches, the same wind in which you flew your prized Firebolt in, the wind that you rode trying to catch the small golden ball.  
  
You should have been among the wind, not the sea. The sea doesn't suit you- it's too noisy, too rough, too big to suit your personality.  
  
The wind does. The wind is gentle, but at times harsh, beautiful, and yet terrible...you were the wind beneath everybody's wings- your friends, and the rest of the people in this world. You were the wind beneath my wings too- even after we broke up in my sixth year; you were still the one I looked to save me, me and everybody else. I had complete faith in you.  
  
You were the solitary light in the dimness; the shining moon among all the stars; you were truly a hero.  
  
You really were.  
  
Countless monuments have been erected in honor of you, countless statues, plaques, carvings, walls, everything. But those really do not mean anything. They're made of stone, and marble- and you were never either or.  
  
You were the wind, and the wind will always forever remain a testament to the person you were.  
  
The wind blows gently through my hair, making me shiver, just like you did. It enfolds me in the wind, just like you did.  
  
I remember now that I've always loved the wind-maybe it's a part being a Seeker, but now I cherish it even more than ever, because the wind is my last reminder of what you were really like- your hugs, your being.  
  
The wind was a part of you, and now it will always be a part of me. 


End file.
